


The Sweetest Treat

by Arithanas



Series: Love Demands Sacrifices [5]
Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-31
Updated: 2012-03-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 06:15:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4049296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1636, Blois. Years of immoderate alcohol consumption took its toll on Athos' health, and he's not a man to endure being on a diet, at least, not without a good reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sweetest Treat

"Grimaud, if I wanted someone to tell me what to eat, I would get a wife!" Athos exclaimed when his servant placed a bowl filled with a meatless potage in front of him.

His valet just smiled and took a step back. They were in better terms, but he knew his master's fists were quick.

"Pa?" Raoul called out, he was busy with his own dish. Charlot's wife had served him a tender lamb chop with all its fittings. His boy could be only two years, but he was sensitive.

"Eat, Raoul," he ordered and gave that rebel servant his full attention. "We are having an adult conversation here."

Grimaud hold his gaze, daring him to utter an arbitrary command. Athos had to admit he was seething with ill humor since the physician forbid him to eat meat and that insolent Breton knew it. Grimaud was enforcing that order, and maybe he was doing it to save himself some work but most likely, he was doing it because he worry about his master's health. Athos knew he must comply, the pain in his side sometimes was bad enough to double him up, but his pride didn't allow him to go down without a fight.

"Bread," Athos barked, aware that he must not set a bad example to Raoul.

Grimaud nodded and went to the kitchen.

"Here!" Raoul said, offering him one of his _echaudés_. Charlot's wife always bakes them for him.

"Thank you, Raoul," Athos said, shaking his head. The boy knew his offer was rejected but his eyes asked why. "That is too sweet for me."

"Why?" Raoul asked before taking a morsel of lamb.

"Men don't eat sweets."

"Grimaud do!" Raoul answered back when Grimaud entered the room with a newly baked oat bran loaf.

The valet took good care of serving the bread over Raoul's shoulder, keeping himself at good distance from his master and doing his best to hide his smile.

"Really?" Athos asked; his eyes never wavered from that rascal who dared to undermine the upbringing of his son.

Raoul smiled, nodded and chewed his food thoroughly, oblivious to the fact that he ratted Grimaud out.

...

Athos idled away some hours in his cabinet, quill in hand. He had meant to fulfill this friendly duty for two years, but somehow life keeps getting in the way. Athos wrote some lines for d'Artagnan and Porthos, as for Aramis, there was no way to know in which convent he went to bury himself; maybe his other two friends could give him information about the dear _abbé_. His epistolary labor managed to distract Athos from his whim for meat, but now the letters were done and he noticed the kitchen's perfume. If he waits until tomorrow to send them, he will have ahead some hours of gluttonous revelry. He stood up and walked away from his writing desk, stretching his back. Then, he placed both hands on the windowsill look down until he located Grimaud who was busy carrying wood to the woodshed.

"Grimaud!" Athos called out. The servant looked up. "My horse!"

Once Grimaud signaled that he comprehended his orders, Athos picked up his letters and his hat. An outing to Blois was the perfect way to take food out of his mind. He changed his shoes for his spurred boots and went down enjoying the sound of his steps on the new wood of the stairs, proud of that solid and safe staircase. With his cape tided diagonally, he headed toward the courtyard, but he got snagged by his letters, he looked down and found Raoul clutching the paper with all his might and some big, pleading eyes. Athos read those eyes and knew that the boy was aware of his departure. With a sight, he made a note to make his retreats more quietly in the future.

"I'm going to Blois," Athos explained, extricating his letters from the small fist and placing them in the breast of his doublet. "I'll be back soon..."

"Me!" Raoul insisted, clinging to his breeches.

"But is too hot," he said, trying to find a reason for which the boy should stay. Raoul was sporting his summer shirt adorned with some coal stains: he was playing in the hot-house again. "And you are not properly dressed, Raoul."

Raoul let him go and tried to review his clothes with all the gravity this situation demanded, it was a quick task since he was not yet master of his own body and the shirt was his only cover.

"No shoe?" Raoul asked, his tone was just half-hearted.

"No shoes," Athos confirmed, his inner self prayed that the boy had piddled on them again and that they were wet at the time being.

Raoul pouted and went into the salon. Athos' heart sank, he really didn't want to make the boy felt inadequate but he knew Raoul could make a short trip a whole military expedition; it was not his fault, though, he was just an inquisitive boy. As he saw Raoul's small figure get lost in the corner of the salon, Athos take up his way again, and maybe he could bring him a token of his appreciation when he returned from the post.

Grimaud was not at the side of his horse, but Charlot made up for his absence just well. Athos was climbing the horse back when he heard how Charlot laughed heartily.

"What is it, Charlot?" he asked picking up the reins.

"Someone is showing his best, master," the servant signaled the main door and Athos gave an annoyed glance at that direction.

By the _perron_ , a small white figure struggled with a linen shirt. Raoul, with his shoes in the wrong foot, was trying to do his best Sunday shirt, the one they always place on his back to take him to the church, but he failed to undo the laces and the lower half of his body was in plain sight. What a self-willed, little man!

"Bring him here, Charlot," Athos commanded, resigned to carry him to Blois.

The servant chuckled the whole way, until he placed the linen cladded figure at his master's horse's withers. Raoul, helped by the old man, took his head out of the garment and beamed his father a big smile.

"Me? Bluah?" the young boy asked for the confirmation of his success.

"Yes, you are going to Blois," Athos confirmed, his hands tying the laces while Charlot changed and laced the shoes. "Now, be good and hold that mane tight."

It was not the first time his horse carried them both, and that was an intelligent beast, as soon as he felt the weight at its withers he pick up a slow canter. Athos masked his disappointment because he wanted to go across the fields but that was not safe for that little boy who smiled and encouraged the beast to hurry up.

As they crossed the gates, Athos' eyes stumbled on the silent and grim figure of Grimaud. They exchanged a glance and a challenge was issued in front of that trip to temptation land.

No meat, said the servant.

Make me, said the master.

...

Athos had time to think while the horse carried them to Blois.

Giving up the wine was the best choice in this life, he was sure. Athos felt like bursting with energy and his head was clearer; it was a shame the rest of his body didn't agree. Each jolt of his mount remembered him his swollen liver. That pain was his constant companion for the last week, and his mouth was filled with the bitter taste of bile, but he surely wouldn't mind it. It was Grimaud who noticed the small drops of blood in his shirt and called a surgeon. The physician ruled out meat for consumption, at least until his liver returned to its normal state and the Count stop feeling sick. This food regimen annoyed him beyond measure. He was not starving, Charlot's wife knew how to make mouthwatering vegetables and there was enough bread and fruits at Bragelonne but he missed meat. It was his main food since he remembered.

Blois was in sight the belfry called people to end their work day and the air was filled with roasted meats and stewed birds that were meant for today's dinner. Had Grimaud spared him that last insolent gaze, Athos wouldn't mind about it, but now, all he was thinking about was meat. It was just a matter of discipline; he had to harness himself against his desire. Raoul, at the withers, signaled him the town people and the shops with delighted exclamations. For him, everything was new and exciting and that made his father smile.

"Let's put this letters at the post, Raoul," Athos said while he alighted.

Raoul clung to his neck a little, before letting himself being placed on the packed dirt. Once in the ground, Raoul surveyed his environment with his ever avid curiosity; Athos beckoned him to remain by his side, the boy was not used to be out of Bragelonne and, for a brief moment, Athos was terrified at the thought of lost sight of him, before he stroked it as nonsense. It helped a lot that Raoul clutched his breeches at that precise moment.

Athos minded his business at the post. The signals for the delivery to Paris were simple. Last time he knew about d'Artagnan, he was living at Rue Tiquetonne under the sign of "La Chevrette"; Porthos, on the other side, was not as easily traced, and Athos and the post master spend some minutes exploring a map of the Picardy until they found Vallon and agreed on a fee. Athos counted the spare change on his purse, roughly a couple of pistoles, enough to buy him and Raoul a nice dinner on a tavern, away from that self-fancied Cerberus into which Grimaud had turned himself. The furtive smile on his face waned at the very moment he realized the lack of a little hand on his clothes.

He took some moments to stop his frantic heartbeats. Raoul couldn't be far, he was too small, and on the other hand he was used to replace that lack of height with some of his unbounded energy and his stubborn head. He could be anywhere. Athos was sure he earned a surprised look from the post master, but he didn't care; Blois was not Paris, but a kid like his could get in several dozens of troubles in a brink.

He tried to be inconspicuous, of course a man like him looking for a child could be an odd sight in every city of France; besides a nobleman should be berating a servant for his lack of competence and not launching himself to a desperate search. He suffered pangs of guilt at his attention paid to his meat loving ways instead of at taking care of the child. Time was pressing, before too long the town would be engulfed in shadows at the night was falling.

...

It took him the good part of an hour, but he found that mischievous boy. Raoul was covered in dirt, with both of his hands placed on a shop window, practically drooling over the pastries and the cookies. One of his shoes was missing, his hair was matted and clinging to his temples, but for Athos that was not a street urchin: he was the most beautiful angel who ever roamed the face of Earth.

"Raoul!" Athos called out, his hand on the pommel of his sword to keep it away from his chest.

The kid looked away from the desserts and gave him a wide, dirty smile.

" _Pa!_ " Raoul exclaimed with the joyous sound a confident child.

The boy ran to him with his arms wide open, Athos saved him half of the distance, but his ill temper was mounting to his head, he had this clear image of taking Raoul by the arm and spank his little bottom until the boy would know how horrible was to scare someone like that. But he was too relieved and was too consistent with himself to do that: he just picked him up and pressed him against his chest.

"Do me the favor of never wander around like that, Raoul..." he said aloud, marveled by how sensible and calm his voice sounded.

"Eh?" Raoul was engaged on trying to get away from those iron arms.

"You scared me, boy!" Athos exclaimed, letting him go, before his pain and anger made him carry out the scenery his mind had concocted.

Raoul saw his face but the worry about his strained expression was placed on the background, he had more pressing issues to communicate and his hand made the sign of 'hungry'.

"I suppose, and maybe you want me to buy you something?"

The boy was oblivious of the sarcasm in his guardian's voice; he took Athos' hand and dragged him toward the shop. Raoul pointed toward a particular confection and raised his pleading eyes towards the adult who was still too stunned to think clearly.

"Plea..." Raoul insisted, hanging out his lower lip.

The ex-musketeer was confused, Raoul certainly didn't deserve a reward for running away, and Athos was still thinking about a more substantial dinner; but those pleading eyes remember him that he never had to beg his father for anything material... let alone for a miserable _beignet_.

"All right," Athos said, taking Raoul's hand, "I'll buy it for you..."

Besides, Athos thought as he entered the shop, meat is not good for me.

...

It was late when they returned to Bragelonne; Athos had to wash Raoul in a fountain because his presentation was really lamentable. He had to buy him new shoes, but that was a worry for another day, the important thing was his boy was safe and clinging to his neck, grateful for the adventure and the ride. What would be of Raoul the day he wouldn't be here? Athos knew he had to take care of himself because Raoul need him; it doesn't matter if he had to survive only on bread and water.

Athos called out and Charlot came hurriedly to open the gate. Raoul stirred and blinked to the light.

"Home..."

"Yes, Raoul, we are home." Athos whispered, guiding the horse through the gates.

"Good," the boy hugged him and kissed him under the chin. "Love ya..."

Athos was flaunting the silly smile provoked for that kiss when he handed the boy to the plump wife of Charlot. He alighted and handed the reins to a gruff-looking Grimaud. There was suspicion and judgment in those eyes.

"What's for dinner?" Athos asked, brushing his doublet non-nonchalantly. "I'm hungry."

It was so good to still being able to surprise his valet.

"Save that silly face, Grimaud," he commented out handed, "I'm not a child..."


End file.
